Page 18 of Redeem

“Hey,” I said after I’d rolled down the window.

“Hey,” he replied.

Then we went silent, him looking at me with those sharp, aware eyes, me unwilling to even guess what I looked like. Not that I would have had to. The stupid smile had slipped out before I knew it, and even now, I could feel my lips curl up as I stared at him, knew that this smile was genuine, and all because he’d shown up.

“Should I get in the back?” he asked.

“What? Um, no. No,” I said, shaking my head. “You can ride up front.”

I rolled the window up and made it a point not to look at him as he circled the truck and got in. Made it even more of a point not to look at him as I drove off.

The silence in the truck lay like a weight, but not an unpleasant one. In fact, it was perfect, the darkness of night giving way to new morning, the sounds of life as people began to wake up. Ciprian’s silent yet steady presence through it all.

God, I was getting soft. Mooning over sunrises and chirping birds and the delicious hulk of a man who sat next to me.

“You okay, Dana?”

I glanced at him quickly, met his dark eyes before I turned my face back to the road.

“Fine,” I said, though I knew my tense, breathy voice sounded anything but.

If Ciprian noticed—who was I kidding? He’d noticed—he didn’t say anything, and I felt compelled to fill the silence with sound, knowing it wouldn’t distract him but still hoping it would.

“Just thinking about the projects I want to get done,” I said.

A lame excuse, but also not an entirely untrue one. When I hadn’t been thinking about Ciprian, I’d thought about the house, how he might help, which, as far as I was concerned, didn’t count.

I made it back to the house a few minutes later, and after I parked and we got out, I looked at him, again feeling that comfort and ridiculous attraction as he stood next to my porch.

“You want some coffee, water? Something to eat?” I asked, telling myself I was being hospitable and not at all seeking more of those calm, quiet moments we’d shared.

He shook his head and then walked toward the sheets of wood.

“So we’re going to make shutters for the windows?” Ciprian asked.

I looked at the rectangles we had cut and nodded. “I’m probably going out of order, but I just felt moved to make them. So I’ll sand them, then stain and prime them, but maybe I won’t hang them until the windows are ready,” I said.

He gave me a curt nod of agreement, and despite myself I began to smile. “But none of that makes any sense to you?” I said.

He gave me a small smile in return. “I understand what you mean, but I will confess, I never considered shutters, what order to put them on, and certainly not making them.”

I shook my head, smiling deeper. “You’re definitely good at playing the part,” I said.

He paused for a moment, his expression changing ever so slightly. “Not so good,” he countered.

The words were straightforward enough, but I felt some secret in the depth of them, something that maybe I wasn’t supposed to hear. I wanted to explore that but caution held me back. It was one thing for me to want his presence, another altogether to want his story. I wasn’t ready for that, or couldn’t admit as much out loud.

I changed the subject. “Okay, so do you want to prime or sand?” I asked.

He looked to one corner of the porch and pointed. “Is that the sander?” he asked.

“No, that’s a circular saw. This is the sander,” I said, lifting the round tool.

“I’ll stain,” he said.

I laughed, then handed him the small can of stain. “I’ll get a couple of the boards sanded and then you can get started,” I said.

He nodded, but didn’t move. Instead he stood next to me, watching as I rubbed the sander over the wood until it was smooth.

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